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SEVEN SONNETS 

and Other Poems 
J. CAREY THOMAS, 2nd. 




BOSTON 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

1917 



Copyright 1917, by J. Carey Thomas, 2nd. 



All Rights Reserved 






• 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 

OCT 20 1917 



rv 



\ 



Dedication 
To Elisabeth this book 



CONTENTS 

Pages 

Seven Sonnets to Elisabeth 9 

Peccavi 13 

Triolets 14 

The Lost Key 15 

The Hidden Heart 15 

Light and Darkness 16 

Triolets to Spring 16 

Ballade 17 

Our Teachers 18 

Two Ballades 20 

The College Student's Ballade of Desire 22 

Ballade for the Glorious Fourth 23 

To Susanne 24 

To O — and M — on their Wedding Day 25 

Rondeau — a Dweller in Meroz 26 

Sonnet 27 

From the German of Heinrich Heine 

"Die Lorelei" 28 

From the German of Goe\the 

"Wanderers Nachtlied" 29 

From the Fench of Victor Hugo "Extase" 29 

Horace, Book v, Ode ' , "Paraphrase" 30 

A Translation from Dante's "Vita Nuova" 31 

Another from the Same 32 

Sunset 33 

Tuckerton Creek 34 

Eventide 35 

The Snow 36 

The Snow, Second Treatment 37 

The Castle of Dreams 38 

To Shelly 39 

The Last Poet 40 

To Walt Whitman 41 

To the Late Dr. R. H. T 42 

The Eyes that Weep 43 

Fame 44 

/ 45 

Truth (?) 46 



CONTENTS 

Page 
Written Under Eugene Field's "Christmas 

Treasures" 47 

Welcome to Sleep 47 

The Passover 48 

An Altar in Gilgal 49 

The Waning Moon 50 

The Wangaloo 51 

In a Volume of W. S. Calverley's Poems 51 

The Land of Sleepy-Eye 52 

A Reverie 52 

My Lady of The Moon 53 

Sweet My Heart 53 

Verses 54 

The Wrong Combination 54 

Past , Present and Future 55 

To a Pet Snake that Died 56 

The Boss 57 

The Death of Balder 58 

The Scarlet Shore 59 

A Fragment 60 

To— 60 

A Prayer 62 



SEVEN SONNETS 

and Other Poems 



SEVEN SONNETS TO ELISABETH 

I 

I came upon the tennis court one day, 
And there you were ! And all the fire of spring 
Took hold of me and made me want to sing ; 
And yet there were no words for me to say ! 

Just thoughts — such thoughts that blossom, as in 

May 
The trees do, when the gentle breezes swing 
The bursting, formless buds on high, and fling 
Their unknown scents from every dancing spray. 

Why could I fit no words to my soul's tune? 
Nor find fit phrases for a worship-song? 
Nor bind you with the Norseman's magic rune, 
Whose spell is stronger than all else is strong — 
All save the love-warmth born of sun and June? 

I could do naught of this; — but long, and — long! 



II 

I laughed at love! And being young, my scorn 
Raised flairing banners, from the loom of pride, 
Far-flaunting; and it pleased me to deride 
Such fools as fancied-love had caused to mourn. 

Those vaunting banners now indeed are torn ; 
My scornful boasting of itself has died ; 
And I am that which erstwhile I decried: 
A slave to love, and fearful, and forlorn. 

It could not otherwise have been with me; 
Nor would I have it seem that I complain. 
That only is at length which was to be ; 

For all my early confidence is vain 

In that I knew not that I knew not thee 

Whom knowing, I must build again in Spain. 

Ill 

O, feathered songster on the barren spray, 
Why dost thou sing? For lo! the leaves are dead 
And all things joyful with the summer fled ; — 
Yet still thou singest through the livelong day. 

" 'Tis love for which I sing", the bird did say, 
"I glory; for my heart at length hath bled 
Within me, and my peace of mind hath sped ; 
And love's sweet bitterness now holds me prey." 

And I, dear Beth, I know the bird spoke true, 
At least in part, for I, I too must sing 
Because of— just because of loving you, 
Than which I know not any other thing 
Save that my soul, a phoenix born anew, 
Love-resurrected from this flame shall spring. 



10 



IV 

The snow of night is falling, dear, and I 
Can see it glimmer through the silent night 
Across my study window's path of light 
As musing, in my morris-chair I lie. 

And as in tangled dance the snow-flakes fly 

All merry that my lamplight makes them bright; 

So whirl my thoughts about in mazy flight, 

My love for you the light I see them by ! 

My love for you ! The only single ray 
Of light that ever set my soul aflame! 
That burns untended both by night and day, 
By day and night untended — yet the same! 

Could you but see all that its beams display ! 
Could you but answer when I call your name ! 

V 

As time goes by, and as I see you more 

I find my love increasing hour by hour; 

I find myself completely in your power 

With head bowed down to worship and adore. 

Ah, could my love but give me wings to soar! 
From what undreamed of heights would I not lower 
O'er all these little, futile folk that cower 
Before Love's house and its half-opened door! 

And if your love for me were half as great 

As mine for you, there is no destiny 

Within the shut scroll of unseeing fate 

Would be beyond the reach of you and me, 

If we should come to be — or soon or late — 

What God has always meant that we should be. 



II 



VI 

Dear Heart, the very breeze is whispering 

Thy name, in sweetly modulated tone, 

To me, as I am standing here alone 

And harkening to the thousand voiced spring 

Whose many sounds harmonically sing 

Thy praise. Ah, could these love-wrought songs 

atone 
A little for the time so vainly flown 
Through fault of mine, that I delayed to bring 
That heart to thee that is thy very own ; — 
If this might be there is no reasoning 
Of human wisdom that could hinder me 
From pilgrim-travel to fair Venus' shrine 
Apart from all the world, with only thee, 
Dear Heart of Love, to pour the votive wine. 

VII 

Deart Heart, when first the great Creator made 
A woman, I am very sure that He 
Was blindly groping for a one like thee. 
But lo! His great conception was delayed; 
For so the voice of all-wise Nature bade: 
"Oh, not too soon! Let man not sudden see, 
Nor all at once, the climax of desire!" 
So age by age the great Creator wrought, 
And fashioned woman toward His primal thought 
As gold is shapen, soft'ning fire by fire, 
From each re-issuing into something higher, 
Until He found in thee all that He sought. 

Thou art, Dear Heart, the perfect thought of One 
Whose lesser thoughts were Earth, and Moon, and 
Sun! 



12 



PECCAVI 

Last night I gazed upon a scorching fire ; — 

The very atmosphere was heated red 

With that fell flame, whose amorous lust was fed 

With my own spirit, that did there expire 

Sapped by the red flame's passionate desire, 

That had its utmost will of it till dead. 

All shuddering from the shame of that embrace, 

I saw my spirit lie, all black of hue ; 

The mad flame kissed the back-turned lips anew, 

And fondled still the unresponsive face; 

And everywhere it kissed — in that same place 

A dead soul's blood came rushing into view. 

My spirit, lust-consumed before its hour — 

Lay dead, deflowered of its life and power. 

I saw the embers glowing red and white, 

The poor dead things that once had been my soul) 

Th' extatic flame still kissed each glowing coal; 

And still its kisses, like a withering blight, 

Seared all they touched, and lust-consumed it quite 

With heat of passion, strong beyond control. 

And in exuberance of lustihood, 

And wild delirium of fulfilled desire 

It clasped the fragments shattered by its fire; 

And seemed to welter in my spirit's blood, 

As 'twere some all revivifying flood 

Unto whose potency it did aspire. 

But lo! Full suddenly from out that flame, 

My soul, a phoenix, from its ashes came. 



13 



TRIOLETS 



It is easy to write 

If your verses be triolets. 

You can see at first sight 

It is easy to write ! 

If you wish to indite 

Something nice with your violets, 

It is easy to write — 

If your verses be triolets. 

II 

II y a beaucoup de fleurs 
Dans mon jardin de Tame; 
Sur mon parterre du coeur 
II y a beaucoup de fleurs 
Qui toujours demeurent 
Pour les choix de ma dame. 
II y a beaucoup de fleurs 
Dans mon jardin de Tame. 

Ill 

Little bird, sing to me ; 

Summer has fled! 

Is there aught you can bring to me? 

Little bird, sing to me ! 

Why did you wing to me, 

Hope being dead? 

Little bird, sing to me; 

Summer has fled! 



14 



THE LOST KEY. 

Love one day was playing 
Hide and seek with me. 
Need is not of saying 
Love one day was playing ! 
Within my heart estraying, 
Love mislaid the key. 
Love one day was playing 
Hide and seek with me. 

Love, I hold you now 
Locked within my heart. 
Safe and fast, I trow, 
Love, I hold you now! 
The lime is on the bough ! 
The bird may not depart ! 
Love, I hold you now 
Locked within my heart. 



THE HIDDEN HEART 

I hid my heart in a bed of clover, 
A fitting bed for an empty heart, 
Far from the sight of the meanest lover. 
I hid my heart in a bed of clover, 
And the fragrant blossoms covered over 
The poor dead thing I had hidden apart. 
I hid my heart in a bed of clover, 
A fitting bed for an empty heart ! 



15 



LIGHT AND DARKNESS 

When the sun shines on high 
There is joy in the world. 
The birds laugh as they fly 
When the sun shines on high; 
And we blissfully lie 
On the grass, lightly curled. 
When the sun shines on high 
There is joy in the world. 

In the darkness of night 
All our joy flees away, 
All our pleasure takes flight. 
In the darkness of night 
All is wrong, naught is right, 
For we live but by day. 
In the darkness of night 
All our joy flees away. 



TRIOLETS TO SPRING 

Sing me a roundel of spring, 
Little bird, little bird. 
Lift up your sweet voice and sing, 
Sing me a roundel of spring, 
Songs of sweet love and a ring. 
Silver throat, sweetly heard, 
Sing me a roundel of spring, 
Little bird, little bird ! 



16 



BALLADE 

He lighted his pipe in the teeth of the gale, 

The old sea-dog with a full match case, 

And he laughed as he squinted aloft at the sail; 

But I asked, as I clung to the starboard brace, 

"Why couldn't you do that with equal grace, 

The other day in a dead flat calm ?" 

And he said, as he smiled into distant space, 

"Oh, it's easy only when you do not give a damn!" 

And I've often thought, when I try and fail 

To do some thing or to win some race, 

Of the words he spoke through the tempest's wail 

While the waves were dashing their spray apace 

Over the bow like fine spun lace. 

And I sometimes feel that in truth I am 

Not wholly to blame ; for its surely the case 

That it's easy only when you do not give a damn! 

To Nancy, and Mary, and Abagail 

I've written verses with easy grace. 

But now — that I've seen the Holy Grail — 

The words won't come in the proper place ; 

And the Muse is awfully hard to chase ; 

And I stand as mute as the fabled clam, 

Untongued before your mocking face — 

For it's easy only when you do not give a damn. 

L'Envoi 

Then, Princess of mischief and laughter, hail! 
Through the stream of my thoughts you have built 

a dam 
Which I try to go over or round, but fail; 
For it's easy only when I do not give a damn. 



17 



OUR TEACHERS 

Ye who have toiled in our making that we might be 

men, 
Who have given you years in their fulness to us for 

our own ; 
We have drunk of your wisdom and folly, have 

drained you — and then 
Have forgotten! Or have we forgotten the seeds 

ye have sown? 
Ye were the law of our childhood. But now we are 

grown, 
Still out of the past time ye guide us, ye living, ye 

dead! 
And our lives which we live, to our seeming, automic 

— alone, 
Are only the ultimate rivers your soul springs have 

fed. 

Lo ! we who have scoffed at your wisdom and railed 

at you then, 
Not seeing the truths ye would teach us — our child- 
hood has flown! 
We now stretch our hands through the distance — 

all we become men — 
In search of the flower of wisdom ye offered full 

blown, 
Which we in our folly rejected. All we now atone 
For the fault of our folly: not seizing your wisdom 

instead ! 
Yet in spite of our fullness of folly, our lives we 

must own 
Are only the ultimate rivers your soul springs have 

fed. 

The truth and the soul, of your teaching was out of 

our ken, 
And the bread ye were burning to give us we took 

as a stone, 
And in blindness we cast at the giver his giving 

again. 

18 



But our blindness ye lighted; our faults ye were 

wont to condone; 
And with infinite patience engrafted on our souls 

your own, 
Till in spite of our earnest endeavors, our footsteps 

were led 
Into paths of your choosing at length, and ourselves 

now full grown 
Are only the ultimate rivers your soul springs have 

feci. 

L'Envoi 

Then on ye, who have hewn and shaped us, and 

made of us men, 
On ye, O our teachers, the light of God's spirit be 

shed ! 
For your will or ours notwithstanding, the souls 

of us then 
Are only the ultimate rivers your soul springs have 

fed. 



19 



TWO BALLADES 

I 

O sweeper of the cobwebs that festoon 

The palaces that I have reared in Spain, 

Dear comrade of the morning, night, and noon, 

Thou inmate of the chambers of my brain, 

May I not crave the wished for thing in vain ! 

And one day, blessed, may my eyes behold, 

Awake, and not return to sleep again, 

The dross of dreams transmuted to life's gold! 

Lo! I have hearkened to that magic tune 
Which gods, nor men, nor brutes, nor stones disdain ; 
And all the chambers of my heart the moon 
Has lighted oft, and oft shall light again. 
Yet there is yet one thing that I would fain 
Have come to pass before my years are told, 
And stay with me, that I may not complain : 
The dross of dreams transmuted to life's gold! 

Dreams are, however sweet, but dreams; and soon 
We wake, nor even memories remain — 
Save as some mystic, half translated rune — 
And we are forced to sleep and dream again. 
But thou who dustest my chateaux in Spain, 
As thou hast swept away their fancy-mould, 
Oh! show to me through life's untarnished pane 
The dross of dreams transmuted to life's gold. 

L'Envoi 

O Sweet my Heart, I ask a single boon, 
My fancy's saint, if I may be so bold: 
That I may see — it cannot be too soon — 
The dross of dreams transmuted to life's gold. 



20 



II 

The sweeper of the cobwebs that festoon 

The castles I have builded me in Spain 

Has left those castles bare ; and all too soon 

Has fled, nor ever will return again. 

And all my dreams are empty things and vain, 

As empty as this goblet that I hold, 

For my one hope no longer may sustain: 

The dross of dreams transmuted to life's gold. 

Lo! All the silver glitter of the moon 

Is tarnished, and its light obscured by rain ; 

For my whole soul is sadly out of tune, 

And shrieks its discords in a world of pain 

Where only sorrow now and tears remain 

Of all that wont to comfort me of old 

When I had hoped to see — e'er hope was slain — 

The dross of dreams transmuted to life's gold. 

Yea, all my joy is over now; and soon 
I too shall travel down the endless lane. 
Although my day of life is at its noon, 
My light of life is early on the wane ; 
But for all that, of one thing I complain, 
One only! Verily I would have sold 
To have that one, my hope of heavenly gain : 
The dross of dreams transmuted to life's gold ! 

L'Envoi 

To you, my dear, for whom I built in Spain, 
I pray but this, although your heart is cold : 
To see — allbeit I know the prayer is vain, — 
The dross of dreams transmuted to life's gold. 



21 



THE COLLEGE STUDENT'S BALLADE OF 
DESIRE 

The burden of much study: oil by night, 
Much strong tobacco and an ice-bound brow, 
And muttered curses at my sorry plight! 
For lo, the term's end is upon me now 
And I must get, I know not where nor how, 
The knowledge requisite to pull a C, 
Or those in power by no means will allow 
That I annex a bachelor's degree. 

The burden of ambition: day and night 
I struggle with the sweat upon my brow, 
At football or at cricket, for the right 
To wear an H. One letter is enow! 
And I am not so anxious anyhow, 
When all is said, to sign myself A. B. 
An H for mine, though no one shall allow 
That I annex a bachelor's degree! 

The burden of desire: Oh, that I might, 
When I shall come to make my final bow, 
Be proud possessor of the twofold right 
That I so crave and struggle after now, 
Perplexed of brain and sweat-bedewed of brow: 
To grace my bosom with an H pardee ! 
And that the faculty at last allow 
That I annex a bachelor's degree ! 

L' Envoi 

You, prince or president, endowed with might, 
Within whose power alone this thing shall be, 
The H is up to me — but give the right 
That I annex a bachelor's degree. 



22 



BALLADE FOR THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 

Once more our patriotic minds we tune 
To all the pleasures of the fourth again, 
While jealous rockets try to quench the moon, 
And burning powder gathers into rain ; 
And kids, with patriotism on the brain, 
Set crackers off, and have no word to say 
Of powder burns; for they must not complain 
To celebrate our Independence Day! 

Lo ! on the morrow we shall see full soon, 
From California, through the land to Maine, 
That patriotism is a blessed boon, 
When reading of the little children slain. 
But what are mothers' tears and fathers' pain? 
For, yesterday were they not passing gay? 
And surely they cannot have died in vain 
To celebrate our Independence Day ! 

And when next year with garlands we festoon 
The graves where heroes of the land are lain, 
Shot down in civil conflict's red monsoon, 
Then let us bring one flower of the plain 
To clothe the couch of children, who remain 
Locked fast in sleep long after dawn is grey, 
And may not hail the rising sun again 
To celebrate our Independence Day. 

L'Envoi 

Ye Gods, Oh ! May we not complain ! 

But still pursue our patriotic way 

And each year strive afresh with might and main 

To celebrate our Independence Day. 



23 



TO SUSANNE 

The burden of verse making: I am sure 
That I have written them to every maid 
That I have met, or laughing or demure ; 
Where, in the usual platitudes arrayed, 
My wounded heart seemed scarcely to endure — 
As always happens to the heart of man — 
The bitter burden on its weakness laid. 
Yet not a verse have I for you, Susanne! 

The old lost loves of yesteryear, their wooer, 
And all the things we thought but never said, 
And all the longing love alone can cure, 
And all the sweet and bitter prayers I prayed, 
And all the things for love I would abjure: 
These things I wrote as only lovers can 
And almost daily into verses made. 
Yet not a verse have I for you, Susanne ! 

Whene'er an old love faded, lo, a newer 

Next evening came, and on my heart-strings played ; 

So I was ever drawn by that lure 

Whereof men do but well to be afraid 

For that the strongest may not long endure. 

Then all these loves I set within the span 

Of ode or sonnet, as my fancy bade. 

Yet not a verse have I for you, Susanne ! 

L'Envoi 

Dear, would my very living might be made 
Into one poem of eternal plan 
And all of it at your loved feet be laid. 
I have no other verse for you, Susanne ! 



24 



TO C— AND M— ON THEIR WEDDING 
DAY 

The song eternal has again been sung, 
That great refrain whose words are living fire ! 
And while the mellow wedding bells are rung 
Two hearts have gained at last their heart's desire ; 
Two souls the heaven to which they did aspire! 
Hearts doubly blessed in having reached so high! 
Souls doubly blessed in knowing nothing higher! 
The perfect love alone may deify! 

Ye are of those who move at ease among 
Those places where all sweetest breaths suspire 
From fairest flowers while the spring is young, 
And where the strings of many a sweet toned lyre 
Vibrate through incensed chambers of desire ; 
And yet ye faint nor falter not, as I 
With senses deadened by the suave samphire. 
The perfect love alone may deify! 

Lo, Venus bending from on high, has swung 

For you, the whole of life a little nigher 

The sources whence the stream of life has sprung, 

The centre of the universe's fire! 

To your live love all old dead loves conspire, 

That whence they crawled, your love full fledged 

might fly 
And bear you ever onward, ever higher. 
The perfect love alone may deify! 

L'Envoi 

And, oh, my friends, if haply I aspire 
To what my feeble hand should never try, 
Forgive me by the strength of my desire. 
The perfect love alone may deify! 



25 



A DWELLER IN MEROZ 

Rondeau 
A dweller in Meroz, I live at my ease, 
On the small of my back in the shade of the trees, 
With Omar Khayyam and a few other friends. 
The life that we live in this paradise tends 
More and more towards doing whatever we please. 

Our faces are cooled by the breath of the breeze; 
While the ripple of water, the murmur of bees 
A sensual longing for laziness lends 
A dweller in Meroz. 

Oh! the sounds that one hears, and the sights that 

one sees, 
Stretched out in the shade of the sheltering trees! 
How the voice and the aspect of everything blends 
Here, where pleasure begins, and where weariness 

ends! 
Oh! come with me, Dear Heart, and live, among 

these, 
A dweller in Meroz. 



£6 



SONNET 

Whene'er in fancy's realm I wander far, 
Untrammelled by the nearness of the world 
Naught seeing save the heavens over-pearled 
With clouds, and gemmed with many a star; 
Night, cloaked more gorgeously than any czar, 
With crimson mantle round his person furled; 
My soul then stretches yearning hands on high 
And prays to him clothed the lofty sky 
In misty drapery of clouds light curled, 
To veil the ebon beauty of the night 
From the too curious gaze of the lorn earth. 
At such a time our solemn thoughts have birth 
And naked in our own and Maker's sight, 
Stand full revealed beneath the star's dim light. 



27 



DIE LORELEI 
From the German of Heinrich Heine 

Oh, I know not of what 'tis a token 
That sadness oppresses me so; 
A story in olden days spoken, 
A tale of vast centuries ago. 

It darkens, and the air is chill, 
While quietly flows the Rhine ; 
The crests of mountain, knoll, and hill 
Sparkle in the sun-set shine. 

A maiden sits on the hill crest, 

A maid of beauty rare, 

In gleaming golden garments dressed, 

And combs her golden hair. 

She combs it with a comb of gold, 
And sings a song meantime 
That has a beauty all untold, — 
A melody of rhyme. 

A boatman in his little boat, 

Has woe unamed thereby : 

The frowning cliff he does not note. 

His gaze is fixed on high! 

Alas! For the waves, high flinging, 
The victory have won ! 
And this with her fairy singing, 
Cruel Lorelei has done. 



28 



WAND'RERS NACHTLIED 

From the German of Goethe 

Over all the trees 

Silence falls; 

And the gentle breeze, 

'Midst sylvan halls, 

Has fallen asleep! 

The birds have ceased their song; 

And e'er long 

You as well the silence keep ! 

EXTASE 
From the French of Victor Hugo 

"Et j'entendis une grande voix." 

L 'Apocalypse. 

I stood alone by the ocean, o'er me the starry sky; 
Not a cloud in the dark vault of Heaven, not a sail 

on the sea I spy; 
And I seem to look into the future with a more than 

mortal sight; 
And the woods, and the hills, and the mountains 

green 
In a hurried murmur a question seem 
To ask of the lamps of night. 

And those golden points above me, the infinite 

legions of stars, 
With a burst of melodious music, said to my hark- 

ening ears, 
Bowing their heads crowned with lustre, bowing 

with one accord ; 
And the waves of the sea that unbridled roam, 
Said, lifting their crests bedecked with foam: 
"Tis God! 'Tis Christ, the Lord!" 



29 



A PARAPHRASE 

Horace, Book i, Ode 5 

I ask you, Pyrrha, is there any slender boy, 
Perfumed with sweetest waters, who can still enjoy 
To wreath your head with roses in some sheltered 

grot, 
That you so bind your flaxen tresses in a knot? 

Alas, how oft will he lament your faith untrue, 
And fickle Destiny! Alas, how he will view 
And wonder at the sea deep-stirred by every breeze, 
For that he did not know that maids love as maids 
please ! 

Alas for him, too trusting in your fickle love, 
Who holds you as a priceless blessing from above; 
Who, ignorant how the fleeting storm has waged, 
Expects at all times he will find you disengaged! 

Alas for him who knows you not, so deems you fair ! 
That is a garment I have ceased for long to wear. 
A votive tablet on the sacred wall shall be 
A sign I offer it, a tribute, to the sea. 



30 



A TRANSLATION FROM DANTE'S "VITA 
NUOVA" 

To every captive soul and loving heart 
Beneath whose glance this writing haps to fall, 
That it may gain an answer from ye all, 
Fair greeting I from Love, your lord, impart. 

Almost completed was the first third-part 
Of that still season which the stars recall, 
When Love appeared to me — immensely tall — 
Whose aspect wakened terror in my heart. 

Love seemed to me full joyful ; and he had 
In hand my heart; and in his arms was placed 
My lady sleeping, somewhat lightly clad. 
He waked her; and albeit terror-mad, 
My burning heart he made her humbly taste; 
Then weeping, he departed passing sad. 



31 



ANOTHER FROM THE SAME 

You, who on the road of love pass by, 
Rest now and hear my cry. 

And is there any love as great as mine? 

1 pray you but to listen patiently 
And then — oh, then, reply 

What torments in my person you divine! 

Love, not that virtue in myself is high 

But through his potency, 

Has granted me a life so sweet and fine 

That oft behind me I have heard one sigh: 

"Ah, with what dignity 

And perfect joy he bears Love's signet-sign!" 

But now, alas, my happiness has fled, 

Which from a love-full treasury I had, 

To leave me poor and sad ; 

That, seeming so, I tell it blushing red. 

And so I bear me like a wretched lad 

Who hides from shame his poverty girt head, 

With outward joy bestead, 

While deep within, my heart is sorrow clad. 



SUNSET 

The placid waters peaceful flow 
Beneath the slant sun's ruddy glow, 
While cresting every wavelet's height 
Flash diamond-sparkling points of light. 
The sky is azure overhead, 
Shot through with streaks of coral-red. 
While interspersed with iris-blue, 
And dight with many a gorgeous hue, 
Above the meadows, brilliant green 
The richly tinted clouds are seen. 
Resplendant o'er their purfled crest 
The sun is sinking to his rest. 
No strident sound of life is heard: 
Nor plash of fish nor cry of bird ; 
The world, adoring, bows to pray 
For morrow like the blest today. 



33 



TUCKERTON CREEK 

Quietly flows the water of the beautiful Tuckerton 

Stream ; 
And down through the gold-red ripples the rays of 

sunlight beam. 
They shine on the roots of cedars, and the blades 

of river-grass 
That grow on the sandy bottom in many a gorgeous 

mass. 

And the dull-red cedar water, with the sunlight 

streaming through, 
Softens the glaring colors to a delicate neutral hue. 
The rocks along the bottom glow with paintings 

wondrous rare! 
And the logs submerged beside them are every whit 

as fair! 

On banks grow many cedars, from whose overreach- 
ing arms, 

Covered with moss and lichens, sound the grackel's 
harsh alarms; 

There the cedar-bird is flitting, and the red-wing 
trills his lay; 

But the creek flows on unconscious, to the ever 
restless bay. 



34 



EVENTIDE 

The day is swift declining, 
And darkness comes apace ; 
The stars will soon be shining 
The ebon night to grace. 

The vesper-sparrow is singing 
Adown by the rippling brook, 
The robin is homeward winging, 
And homeward flies the rook. 

Over the hills before me 
Is the rim of the setting sun. 
A feeling of peace comes o'er me ; 
The day at length is done. 



35 



THE SNOW 

Hail the dazzling whiteness 
Of the soft, sweet snow! 
Hiding light, and hiding brightness 
In the world below. 

Sibilent at times, then silent 

As it strikes the pane; 

While the wild wind, wild and violent, 

Roars again! 

Tall trees tremble, bending, breaking, 
While the whirl-wind blows; 
And anon, the echoes waking, 
Spread sound o'er the snows. 

Now the snow has ceased from falling, 
And the pane is clear ; 
While no more the echoes calling 
Strike the ear. 

Silent stillness broods and hovers 
O'er the coming night; 
Silent whiteness hides and covers 
All from sight. 

And the homes of sin and sorrow 
Lie beneath a pall 

Of whiteness, that they seem to borrow 
Purity for all. 



36 



THE SNOW 

Second Treatment 

Fairest of all things fair, whitest of all that is white, 
Swiftly and silently swirl, cover the fields in the 

night ; 
Hide all the dirt and the dust ; conceal all that's ugly 

from view; 
Spread out your mantle, and hide the old 'neath the 

cloak of the new. 

Whiten the dwellings of sin ; cover the houses of 

greed ; 
Cover, and hide, and conceal the shame and the 

shape of the weed ; 
Make all that is ugly seem fair; make all that is 

wicked seem good; 
Make pearls out of pieces of coal, and marble from 

pieces of wood. 

Then melt, and reveal in a day the ill you have 
covered and hid: 

The mud, and the filth, and the slime that we wal- 
low and flounder amid. 

Pass from the face of the earth in streams that are 
blacker than sin ; 

Pass and be gone, that the Master of Evil may grin. 

Fairest of all things fair, whitest of all that is white, 
The Devil has speeded you down to cover the fields 

in the night. 
Covering evil and sin, hypocrisy gives you the cue! 
Cover the dwellings of sin ; hide all that's ugly from 

view. 



37 



THE CASTLE OF DREAMS 

I have builded a beautiful mansion 
In the Ultima Thule of dreams, 
Where a wish is the father of having, 
And everything is as it seems ; 

Where life is eternal fulfillment 
Of thoughts half expressed in the mind; 
Where natural laws are refuted, 
And bent to the will of mankind. 

This beautiful mansion is furnished 
To suit every need of the soul ; 
Every wish in this place is accomplished 
By light handed Genius or Troll. 

In the garden are fruit trees and flowers: 
Hesperian and Asphodel; 
And a beautiful fountain of water 
Where the beautiful fairies dwell. 

And I flee to this castle of fancy 
When my thoughts are too full of the world, 
When my soul is weighed down by its sorrow, 
And the wings of my spirit are furled. 

For a chamber there is in this palace, 
Stored full of the wisdom of time, 
Where the world weary soul is replenished 
And soothed with the essence of rhyme. 

'Tis a place of retreat in the tempest, 
Where naught may come near to annoy; 
Where sorrow and sighing are banished, 
And the spirit is swaddled in joy. 



38 



TO SHELLY 

When the mournful mother of music is mute 
In the grey and the green of the dawning day, 
And the languishing languor of lyre and lute 
No longer lives in the winding way; 

And the sad soul, seeking in solemn sorrow 

For the vanished voice of him who had 

Such a sweetness of song that the birds might borrow, 

Is so fearful from failure the mind goes mad; 

Then the soft sweet strains of a sweet soft song 
Come to me, calling from fires that fade 
And falter, as fires that no longer long 
To fold his form who is now a shade ! 

But so are the sweet and the bitter blent 

In the songs of her son, that the mother of sound 

Hushes her speech, e'er it be spent 

To hear them rising from the ground. 



39 



THE LAST POET 

They have sung sweetly in the fields of Arcady! 
But now they sing no more, nor sport upon the lea, 
Nor wake the woodland echoes by the dim lake shore ! 

The thirsty deer in vain uprears his antlered head 
Before he drinks, to hear their voices who are dead. 
Yea dead ! who living caused him anything but fear ! 

In vain all wild things of the forests, lakes, and fields 
Roam calling for their friends. The roaming noth- 
ing yields ! 
Their loving search is ended as all searching ends! 

FJor death and darkness have gone on before their 

feet ; 
And where was melody, and all things sounding 

sweet, 
There is no music but the mourning of the sea! 

Here, where music once upon a time was heard 

To swell the livelong day, no longer any bird 

Is found to lift its voice in song upon the spray. 

And lo ! a tombstone bearing many ancient names 
Uprears its sorry face, and to the world proclaims 
That of the sweetest poets, all have run their race. 

And this last name, whose letters are not even dry! 

The sweetest, sadest name of all that galaxy! 

Can you and I live on, — since Swinburne had to die? 



40 



TO WALT WHITMAN 

Thou art a poet after my own heart, O Walt 

Whitman ; 
Thy thoughts are pure, unlike the prurient Schuyl- 
kill River. 
Yea, thy verses are the epitome of nobility ! 
They remind me of the green grass that is covered 

with yellow dandelions. 
Thy thoughts are beautiful, for they are of the 

people, for the people and by the people. 
Out of the people thou earnest, out of the dust of 

New York! 
As the flower grows in the grave yard, out of the 

bones of dead generations, 
So didst thou grow up out of surroundings that were 

worse than death. 
Like a star thou spedest out of utter darkness, and 

like a star thou spedest back! 
But the darkness was no longer darkness, for the 

white light of the mind shone there. 
Throughout thy life thou wert free: Liberty, 

Equality, and Fraternity were thy bedfellows; 
Nay more, they were thy brothers, whose love has 

warmed thy spirit till the present hour. 
I love them, and I love thee, for ye are all part and 

parcel of Nature, who is God. 
Yea, I am of Nature also. So are all things. Who 

then will say that anything is not good ? 



41 



TO THE LATE DR. R. H. T. 

The angel of the Lord, on silent wing, 

Came softly whispering to this noble soul, 

And led him to that place where Seraphs sing: 

His one desired abode, his life's great goal ! 

And two great cities in two distant lands 

Are sunk in sorrow that he left them so. 

Each grieves, though little either understands 

What joy it was at last for him to go; 

What sweet unutterable bliss was his 

When he could lay aside his burden, life, 

To greet his Maker with a loving kiss, 

And then lie down to rest, well earned in strife. 

For his has been a life of bitter pain ; 
And his slight body, by disease made frail, 
His soul as oft, by faith, made whole again, 
That he might seek and find the Holy Grail. 
And he has found it in that place where Death, 
And Life, and Hope do mingle into one 
Eternal, beautious being, one whose breath 
Inspires a man with joy, his work well done. 
And yet we grieve for him, dear friends, but why? 
Why are we sad that he has gained his own ? 
What sweet relief he must have felt to die! 
How joyfully his spirit must have flown! 

Ah, he was far too good to live on earth ! 
Such souls as his for Heaven alone are framed ! 
Though of the flesh, and fleshly was his birth, 
His heart and talents by his God were claimed ; 
His every thought, his practice and his speech : 
"God's will be done !" And doing it he lived 
And died! Such deaths as his rare lessons teach 
Of faith and trust in Him who sinless lived. 
The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost — thrice one — 
Were his sole tutors till the hour he died. 
And dying, life for him had but begun : 
The life eternal by his Maker's side! 



42 



THE EYES THAT WEEP 

The sun God kissed them and waked them up, 
The poor little poppies that wanted to sleep; 
And the dew God dropped in each scarlet cup 
A shining tear from the eyes that weep. 

And the poor little poppies swayed and danced 
In the smile of the God, but they wanted to sleep. 
And the tear drops in the sunlight glanced 
Flashes of light from the eyes that weep. 

Her mother kissed her and bade her rise, 
The poor little maiden who wanted to sleep : 
And the mother saw in the dear blue eyes 
Two shining tears from the eyes that weep. 

And the poor little maiden rose and dressed, 
And went to her tasks but she wanted to sleep; 
Sleep and return to the Isles of the Blessed 
Where there are no tears, and no eyes that weep. 

The sun went down, and poppies and maid 
Closed their eyes, for they wanted to sleep; 
But they lay next morning side by side, 
The red on the blue; — Oh, eyes that weep! 



43 



FAME 

I stood without the door, and gazed a while. 
And lo, a vision as of wealth and style, 
And voices in a ceaseless buzz of talk, 
A merry whirl of chatter and of smile ! 

Methought, from far, a whispered murmur came, 
And cried aloud: "Behold! For this is fame!" 
And one who stood beside the open door 
And took no part but watched, for he was lame, 

Did smile as, gazing on the whirling throng, 
He oped his lips as though to sing a song. 
Behold! A mighty presence filled the room 
And lashed the revellers with a leathern thong. 

"Forbear!" I cried, and strove to pierce a veil 
That she enwrought, as seemed, with moonbeams 

pale. 
Ah vain ! And I was left out in the dark, 
Nor might I see at all the Holy Grail. 

And yet again that voice, and far away, 
That ever through the distance seemed to say: 
"Behold! For this is fame!" And then the sun 
Arose in the far East, — for it was day ! 



44 



t 



Golden sunlight in the valley! 
Golden sunlight on the mountain! 
Birds enthusiastically 
Bathing in the sunlit fountain ! 

Gloom of midnight in the city! 
Gloom no tongue can rightly utter! 
Little children — Ah, the pity! — 
Bathing in the loathsome gutter! 

Grasses, green and flowers waving, 
Growing in the country fields ! 
Filthy streets, slime covered paving, 
This the crop the city yields! 

Broad and pleasant country lanes! 
Filthy city streets and narrow! 
And o'er all this a Being reigns 
Who notes the fall of every sparrow ! 



45 



TRUTH (?) 

Night asked me, walking by her side, 
"Ah, tell me what is truth?" she cried. 
And all around the silence seemed to say, 
"What is the truth? What is it, pray?" 

Then, reading from the pages of my mind, 

I answered, saying, "Are ye blind? 

Ye ask me 'what is truth?' 

Age knows is not, nor verdant youth!" 

And then a smile o'erspread the face of night ; 
And in that smile I saw the light 
Of truth shine out, and straightway said, 
"You lie, O smile, for truth is dead!" 



46 



WRITTEN UNDER EUGENE FIELD'S 
"CHRISTMAS TREASURES" 

I read these verses time and time ; 
The author seems to draw more near, 
As swimming through the unshed tear, 
The printing fades, and leaves the rhyme. 

Ah Field, thy tones of sadness seem 
More real than those of other men; 
My heart thy sorrow feels again, 
And yearning, followeth the gleam. 

WELCOME TO SLEEP 

Come gentle sleep, and breathe on me, 

And far away all pain shall flee. 

My soul sweet comfort feels when thou 

Dost gently kiss my weary brow. 

Bid thou, sweet sleep, dull care depart, 

And draw — oh, draw me to thy heart! 

That folded in thy fond embrace, 

My weary brain no more need trace, 

In musings sad and meloncholy, 

My wicked life, my heedless folly. 

Pray from my memory erase 

Both good and bad, both fair and base; 

Cast off despair, and let me don 

The robe that brings oblivion! 



47 



THE PASSOVER 

The Angel of Death, with a pestilent breath, 

Walked stark through the trembling land; 

And his withering rod 

Was the anger of God, 

That he bore in his imminent hand. 

With monotonous beat, his inaudible feet 

Were felt to the uttermost part 

Of that land whence the race 

Of the children of grace 

Were forbid by the king to depart. 

Through the midst of the night he strode on in his 

might, 
And he paused on his way at each door ; 
And woe to that roof 
That bore not the proof 
Of a threshold bespattered with gore! 

For the sentence of doom was pronounced in each 

room 
Of that house by the Angel of Death; 
That each mother, next morn, 
Should bewail her first born 
Who had gazed on the Angel of Death. 

And through Pharo's broad lands there was wringing 

of hands, 
And the rending of garments in twain ; 
While the breath of despair 
Was borne on the air 
In the hand of the Demon of Pain; 

For the Angel of Death, with a pestilent breath, 

Had passed through the stillness of night; 

And his withering rod 

Was the anger of God, 

That smote with an infinite might. 



4 8 



Through the stillness and gloom, like a breath from 

the tomb, 
The Angel of Death glided by; 
And he struck at each door 
That was stainless of gore 
With his rod, that an inmate might die. 

For God puts forts his might in the cause of the 

right 
To shelter his children from harm. 
What a wonderous thing 
Is the love of this king 
That shelters his children from harm. 

AN ALTAR IN GILGAL 

I have read in some book of the ancients, some tome 

of long ages ago, 
Of a people who builded in Gilgal a shrine, that 

their children might know 
How their fathers were brought out of bondage, and 

into a land of their own 
By the hand of God, and His chastening rod, 
To a land where the harvest was grown. 

Let us, like the wandering Israelite, establish by 

precepts and deeds, 
In the hearts of our fellow mortals, a name that no 

monument needs. 
For the pilgrim that travels through lifetime with 

the spirit of God in his heart 
Needs no pillar of stones to rise o'er his bones 
Lest his fame from man's memory depart! 



49 



THE WANING MOON 

Thou silvery moon, thou silvery moon, that floatest 

there on high, 
I pray thee tell me truly : Is it pleasant in the sky ? 
And dost thou love the star-child, that I see so close 

to thee, 
As I the little youngster who is riding on my knee? 
Dost thou lead a life of pleasure in that field of 

azure hue, 
Free from care, and full of pleasure, in that lofty 

dome of blue? 
Dost thou feel no sad repining when thou fadest 

out of sight, 
No pang of grief nor sadness when thou'rt forced 

to loose thy light 
Or dost thou know, fair Luna, that e'er a month be 

sped 
Thou'lt rise again resplendent, as One rose from the 

dead, 
And shed thy glorious radiance through the darkness 

of the night, 
That we poor mortal beings may choose our paths 

aright ? 
It was thus in former ages, that a Greater Lustre 

shone, 
To guide through deeper darkness, the sinner to his 

home! 
That Light was once extinguished, that the world 

might thereby learn 
How great would be the darkness should It cease 

at length to burn. 
For full three days It shone not, and the earth was 

filled with night; 
Then It burst again resplendent, and the world once 

more had light. 
Since then It has been shining, to point the narrow 

way, 
That the sad and weary traveller in the darkness 

may not stray; 
And the pits along life's roadway by Its radiance 

clear are seen! 

50 



Keep that Light for e'er before thee, and thy path 

is plain, I ween ; 
But shouldst thou turn thee from It, that thy shadow 

fall before, 
Thou'lt stumble in that shadow, and be lost forever 

more! 

THE WANGALOO 

Krumpish was the wangaloo, 

As he sleeked across the lea, 

For his curliboss was blue 

As the whango colored sea. 

The hair upon his jibaloon 

Was all befugged with jam. 

His gruelish teeth were in the moon; 

His toes were in his cram. 

And all the while he scrooped with glee 

A maukish frangopeer, 

And with contusion, said to me 

He'd rather far have beer. 

Then seeing that his frimpish words 

Were lacktish to my taste, 

He plunged into some slimperish curds, 

And drowned his grief in haste. 

IN A VOLUME OF W. S. CALVERLEY'S 
POEMS 

With parody and nonsense light 

We wander on our merry way ; 

Our tongues are quick, our lips are bright 

With parody and nonsense light! 

Yea, through the fire lit winter night; 

Yea, while the bright sun shines in May, 

With parody and nonsense light 

We wander on our merry way ! 



51 



THE LAND OF SLEEPY-EYE 

Little children, come with me ; 
We shall wander o'er the sea, 
O'er the mighty roaring deep 
Where the great whales lazy sleep, 
Where the shark and sword-fish fight 
'Midst a phosphorescent light, 
To a fair land far away, 
Where the little fairies play; 
To a bright land, free from pain, 
Where the brownies live again ! 
In this place there is no sorrow, 
No last night, and no tomorrow! 
'Tis the land of Sleepy-eye, — 
Maybe that's the reason why! 

A REVERIE 

By the quietly flowing river 
Where the fairest grasses quiver, 
Where the rarest sunset glows, 
Is a spot the lover knows. 

Where the current flows must slow, 
Bended like the blind God's bow, 
Where the purple iris grows, 
Is a spot the lover knows. 

Where the nesting redstart swings, 
Where the vesper-sparrow sings 
While the gentle zephyr blows 
Is a spot the lover knows. 



52 



MY LADY OF THE MOON 

Was it only three short nights ago 

That I looked in your laughing eyes, 

And there found things that I longed to know, 

My queen of the moonlit skies? 

Have I only seen you for three short days? 

Three thousand years, I vow, 

Of sun, and moon, and golden haze 

Have passed 'twixt then and now. 

Three thousand years of life and light, 
A thousand to a day, 
Have added to my strength and might, 
And taught my soul to pray: 

Dear Lord, on bended knee I crave 
One single blessed boon: 
For my love's love I pray Thee save 
My Lady of the Moon. 

SWEET MY HEART 

Sweet my Heart, it is a dreamy day, 
And hand in hand by stream we stray; 
It babbles love below our feet, 
Dew-spattered by its silver spray. 

Sweet my Heart, the stream has seen 
Our foot-steps on its lip of green, 
And gently wondering, kissed the spot 
Where such a miracle has been. 

Sweet my Heart, the snow white rose 
Where'er the stream has kissed upgrows; 
And by this chaste, pure bower of love 
The envious stream sighs as it flows. 



53 



VERSES 

Think you, dear, the stars could shine 
Were it not for love divine ? 
Or the very source of light 
But for love be half so bright? 

Think you, dear, the grass could grow 
Did not Nature love it so? 
Think you anything could be 
Were not love its entity? 

How long think you then shall I, 
Unloved by you, escape to die? 
Dear, if you would have me live, 
Then give me life as you can give! 



THE WRONG COMBINATION 

A maiden on a stairway, 
A youth in evening dress! 
You'd say they're in a fair way 
To secret thoughts confess; 

The time and place propitious, 
Far from the noisy whirl ! 
But fate is so capricious, 
For — she is not the girl ! 



54 



PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE 

Aged about, — well say thirteen, 
With her long dark hair loose flung, 
Full of life when boys are seen: 
This is Anne when she was young! 

Done with idle dreams and fancies, 
'Uld be engaged, if she knew how, 
Has a "p er fe ct " time at dances: 
i This is Anne as she is now! 

Rats and switches, paint and powder, 
Grabbing after any he, 
Laughing loud, and talking louder: 
This is Anne as she will be ! 



55 



TO A PET SNAKE THAT DIED 

Most graceful of all creeping things, 
Who many a day has charmed my eye 
Where even now your mem'ry brings 
A bitter tear, why did you die ? 
Why have you left me thus bereft, 
My little snake? 

How joyfully you used to greet 
Me three times daily when I came 
To bring you lucious flies to eat; 
And always answered to your name 
As if you knew who called to you, 
My little snake ! 

For five long months you lived at ease, 
A wooden box of earth your world, 
Until one night a passing breeze 
Espied you, lying tightly curled, 
And dreaming dreams of long lost streams, 
My little snake. 

It whispered in your sleeping ear, 
That it would take you back again 
To those scenes you still held dear ; 
You heard the whisper, went, and when 
I rose from bed, I found you dead, 
My little snake. 

Beneath a gloomy cypress tree 
I sadly laid you in a grave. 
And from my window now I see 
The mournful cypress branches wave; 
While softly cries each leaf where lies 
My little snake. 



56 



THE BOSS 

He has traveled the way of the mire and the clay, 
He has raked the political muck. 
He has burrowed in dirt to his ultimate hurt, 
And the dugs of the trusts gave him suck. 

He offers the hand that was born to command 
To the hand that was born to obey; 
He bellows his scorn of the fool who was born 
To walk in an honester way. 

And once every year he comes forth without fear, 
To gather the harvest of votes ; 

And with expert performers, o'errides the reformers, 
And forces pure graft down their throats. 

He has traveled the path of our scorn and our wrath, 
And he smiles when we call him a thief; 
We may talk as we will — he will keep on until 
We act to his ultimate grief? 



57 



THE DEATH OF BALDER 

Balder, the beautiful Asa, is dead! 
The shadow that lay on his heart, 
That lay, like a pall, on his heart 
Crushing him down, at length hath fled! 
And Balder, the beautiful, is dead! 

'Twas Hoder, the sightless, dealt the blow! 

With a weapon of Loki's device, 

Of the infamous Loki's device. 

With a mistletoe twig, as white as snow, 

Hoder, the sightless, dealt the blow. 

And Asgard mourns for the God so fair, 
While Loki is wild with delight, 
Wild with a wolfish delight. 
But Oden to Hella hath sent a prayer, 
For Asgard mourns for the God so fair ! 

And thus answers Hella to Oden, the wise: 
"If Balder is wept by the world, 
By each separate thing in the world, 
Then, but not elsewise, will Balder arise!" 
Thus answers Hella to Oden, the wise ! 

Then forth from Valhalla the Valkyries fly, 

Crying: "Oh, weep for the slain! 

For the beautiful, well beloved slain !" 

And the whole world weeps at the anguished cry, 

As forth from Valhalla the Valkyries fly. 

But an old hag is sitting before a dark cave, 
And they cry out: "Oh, weep for the slain! 
Weep, Thaukt, for the well beloved slain!" 
But she won't shed a tear young Balder to save, 
This old hag grim-sitting before her dark cave. 



58 



Then back to Valhalla the Valkyries wend ; 

And Asgard is heavy of cheer, 

Is heavy and doleful of cheer, 

For the bright life of Balder has come to an end 

As back to Valhalla the Valkyries wend ! 

THE SCARLET SHORE 

Out of the shore that is named not of mortals; 
There where the king on a scarlet throne 
Sits holding the key of the scarlet portals 
That no man has opened forever alone ; 

There, in the region of sinning and sorrow, 
The sweet and the bitter are one and the same; 
And no one shall sever today from tomorrow, 
But both be as one in the heat of the flame. 

For the life of that land is the fullness of lust, 
And the breath of its being the fullness of sin ; 
Where the wings of our innocence trail in the dust, 
And our masks are laid off, and our real selves begin. 

There the waters are blended of honey and gall ; 
And the bacchanal stoops to the basin's verge 
With lips outstretched for the drops that fall, 
Till lust in fulfillment of lust shall merge. 

And a man may not ever untended stand, 
Nor a woman alone, on that scarlet shore; 
But ever the two shall come hand in hand 
To love, and to live — and return no more. 



59 



A FRAGMENT 

I am too full of sorrow now to write in prose! 
I am too sad to even miss the rose 
That winter's icy hand has stripped of life 
And scattered on the sombre frozen earth. 

No longer can I glory in great Nature's virile 

strife 
To fertilize the fecund earth in time for Summer's 

birth ; 
For my heart is gripped by a hand as cold 
As the hand that slew the rose ! 
By a hand as cruel and thrice as cold 
As the hand that slew the rose! 
And the burning grip of that icy hand 
Is crushing my heart, and crushing my will, 
And killing my power to understand 
As only an exiled love can kill ! 

TO— 

Why do I love you ? 
And why do I long for your love, 
Though I know that you cannot return 
The love that I hold heart-fast ? 

You are the Goddess I pray to; 
You are the first and the last ! 

Lo, out of my dreams when I slumber, 

And out of my thoughts when I wake, 

You float to me over the ocean, 

And laugh in the waves as they break! 

And when I am weary of waking, 

Ah, then 

You sit on the arm of my chair, 

And your fingers wander idly 

And loose themselves in my hair; 

Then hand fast together we wander 

Away to the infinite void ; 

60 



And the force of my love thrills through you 

And makes you eternally mine, 

A part of my very being 

As a day is a part of all time! 

Ah, in dreams you are kinder than kindness; 

Do I sleep 

Or but dream half awake ! 

But I know, 

Oh, I know, dearest Dear Heart 

That never in life may it be ; — 

That only in dreams, through the moonlight 

Will you float to me over sea. 

Yet I love you! 

And ever must love you! 

And ever would love you, my sweet ! 

Though all else the spirit might care for 

Lay there for 

My spirit to greet, 

Yet would I not linger a moment 

To make any of these things mine; 

But press ever onward, and onward, 

Well knowing it vain, 

To that land of dreams 

Where alone it seems 

May I ever live again. 



61 



A PRAYER 

Thou art the red God, 

Living in fire, 

Strong with the force of insatiate desire, 

Full of the lust of insensate desire! 

Ardent and burning 

The yoke of thy power ! 

Oh, the wild, the unquenchable yearning 

To be in thy bower ! 

Then the throb of the blood in inaudible ears, 

And the wordless speech of the heart, 

That cries to the loved one through numberless 

years ! 
Oh, the eyes that are brimming with love, like tears! 
Oh, the fingers that play on my heart, 
That strike great chords in the ears of lust, 
The great wild chords of desire, 
Till the very world is crumbled to dust 
And the onliest God is fire! 
Fire that is red, and withering, and young — 
Yes, young as the self of sin, 
As the self of a crimson sin! 
O Eros, great God of desire, 
Hear me I pray. 
Enkindling, infectuous Sire, 
Who sweepest the strings of my soul, 
Hear me I pray: 

Make me one with her ; make us one whole, 
O Eros, O fire! 
Enkindle the blood in her veins 
With unquenchable fire, 
That shall swell through her delicate veins 
From a heart that is bursting with pain 
Which is near to the kinship of bliss; 
May it burn in her ardorous kiss, 
And with passion enkindle her face ; 
May it sap me with utmost desire; 
May it drag me to nethermost Hell, 
Handfast in a longed for embrace 
Making Heaven of Hell. 

62 



Let us sin! 

If we must — let us sin! 

Oh, breathe on her heart with your breath ! 

Fan — fan it to infinite flame 

That may weld us together till death, 

And fashion us one and the same. 

Oh, make it thy highest regard, 

Great Eros, I crave, 

That the fire of her love shall strain meward 

And utterly ruin, or save! 

Thou art the red God, 

Living in fire! 

My heart thou hast stricken, 

And hers thou shalt strike 

With a note that shall quicken 

Our passions alike. 

For thou are the red God ! 

Thou are desire! 



63 



19 






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